Trickster
by Llewlyn
Summary: The 3rd of 3, following "With This Ring" and "Ghost Roads"  The best doors are those that don't go where you think they do.  Those are also the worst doors.
1. We Built a Home

Author's Note: Hi all :). So, I finally had to take this story down and completely rewrite it from beginning to end. There might be a few shards of the original story in here, but they are few. I don't have much to say for myself except that having writer's block for three years has made me question myself as a writer. Let's hope the result of all that introspection will be a positive one. Enough of my world... please holla if you like it!

* * *

He rarely told her where he was going, which was fine, because after the first few times of _knowing_, she really didn't want to know. It was pretty easy to guess from what he brought back, like the time he brought her a skull covered in what looked awfully a lot like diamonds, and then before she could convince him to take it back, there was that story on the web that a 50 million dollar diamond-encrusted skull had been stolen from the White Cube gallery in "the exclusive neighborhood of St. James in London."

There had been a row, and he did, sulkily, take it back, but she discovered afterward that the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling in their bedroom had increased its crystal count considerably. One large particularly fine "crystal" shattered the white bulb-light into miniature rainbows that sprayed all around the room. On this, Lydia pursed her lips and kept silent, secretly fascinated with the idea of having a diamond worth eight million dollars hanging from her lamp.

Then there was the time he tried to fit a motorcycle through the mirror in the bathroom... because it was the biggest, he claimed later. She happened to have been taking a shower, and screamed in terror as this roaring monster (he was riding it, of course, and whooping like a television cowboy) came halfway through the frame and landed crookedly in the sink. She dropped to her knees and crawled naked out of the bathroom, convinced that the Netherworld mafia had send an assassin for her. It had taken _weeks_ for her to forgive him, and forgetting was quite out to the question- the bike had gotten firmly lodged between the two worlds, and she'd had to use a blowtorch to cut enough of it away to be able to use the sink again. Her stepmother hadn't asked many questions- Delia was just barely getting accustomed to her daughter dating the poltergeist, and expected catastrophe.

So Beej hadn't told her where he was going, and Lydia hadn't worried, because she had lesser things to worry about, like dinner, and perusing the wanted ads for a job for photographers or designers that didn't involve pornography. She had learned early not to answer ads that called for photographers that worked well with live models- invariably that led to porn, and she wasn't ready to go there. Beej was supremely uninterested in her job search- he maintained that he could support her in high style, but she countered that she wanted some independence, and to use her talents. Although he grumbled, he didn't interfere beyond hiding the want ads under cushions or rugs- a weak protest indeed, when he could have just as easily hid them on Titan.

That and various activities had kept her busy until late. She looked up from her perusal of the craiglist for the city, considering looking at the Greater New York area, even though the thought of working in New Jersey was at the bottom of her 'fun' list, and realized the outside light had gone. The microwave clock read 9:37, and as if in agreement, her stomach suddenly felt very hollow, and growled at her.

"Beej?" She looked around, but he wasn't quietly watching her from behind, as he did sometimes to her annoyance. She got up and stretched sore muscles, ready to get concerned, when a bright light filled her vision. She closed her eyes, wincing, and then a shockingly loud thunderclap tore through her head. Lydia screamed in pain, and collapsed to the floor, her thin arms and legs splayed on the kitchen floor just as if someone had cut her strings.

Against the dim light of the laptop screen, a small curl of smoke drifted up from her ear.


	2. They Tore it Down

Author's Note: Thank you so much, wee-me and mywickedlyweirdnature, for reviewing! It does my heart good to know people are still out there. *hugs and truckloads of glittery confetti*

* * *

For a very long time she lay, cheek against the finely woven rug that he had brought her from the spice markets of Samarkand, still smelling faintly of spice and patchouli. She might have slept, because she dreamt that she was wandering through the leys, calling his name, except that it was always the wrong name, and though many creatures answered her, none were him. She might have woken, but her eyes were dark, and her head raged like someone was repeatedly stabbing her with a molten pick. Not vomiting was her first priority; her second was to cut off her head. All night she lay on the carpet, powerless even to call 911.

As morning light seeped in through the blinds and gently crawled over her, her head began to clear, until she was shakily able to draw a breath that didn't hurt. She slid her hands underneath her body and pushed against the floor until she was sitting, and then pulled herself the rest of the way up by holding on to the kitchen table. "Beej?" Silence. She tried to call his other name, his Name, but her throat locked against the sound. When she tried to force it out, she gagged, and stumbled to the kitchen sink to vomit, heaving out nothing but stomach juices until she was shaking. What the hell was happening? Determined to do something, _anything_, she walked unsteadily into their bedroom, where her eyes fell upon a folded letter, creamy parchment with her name scrawled across the top. She immediately recognized the handwriting as well as the parchment- she and Betelgeuse had gotten more than one missive from a highly disapproving Juno. With ever-deepening concern, she flipped over the letter and broke the distinctive black seal. The letter was a few terse sentences.

_**L-**_

_**He has been taken by dangerous and powerful people. Do **__**not**__** try **_

_**to summon him. You are vulnerable. Don't let yourself be seen. **_

_**Meet me at the unfinished. **__**Do not let yourself be seen! **_

_**-J**_

Lydia read it through twice, and then a third time. Her heart dropped into her boots, but her hands moved on automatic, tugging the sheet off the bed and flinging it over the bedroom mirror. Her eyes flitted around the room, looking for reflective surfaces, the inroads of the Netherworld. Of course, it didn't really matter; they had already gotten to her, had _done_ something to her, made her forget... She touched the ring that had the name inscribed on it, the name she couldn't pronounce, and felt bile rise in her throat just at the thought of it. Someone was going to _pay_.

But she knew the "unfinished" that Juno referred to; she and Betelgeuse and Juno had talked at length about Lydia's unsanctioned use of the ghost roads, and of the various substations that existed within the city. The Sherman Square control house, the Algonquin Hotel (where he had taken her later for coffee with Dorothy Parker and Harpo Marx), and the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, or as it was named by the locals, St. John the Unfinished. Juno had said this was a major junction- a full-fledged international station house. And Lydia had to get there without being seen in a single mirror.

A quick plunge through her closet brought up three hoodies, a delicately figured pashmina in blue and silver, and a ratty wool throw that had holes instead of sleeves. She opted for a grey, oversized hoodie and the wool throw, and tugged on baggy jeans and sneakers. It was autumn, and not that cold yet, but she was going for the 'invisible street person' look. In her bag she threw a wallet full of cash of various denominations, and her passport. You just never knew. With a quick look around her—their apartment, she headed out the door and towards the nearest metro, a few long blocks from the apartment building.

She walked with her head down toward the Sheridan Square station, which was a straight shot to the Cathedral at 1110th St. Avoiding mirrors was simpler when you were underground. With an eerie awareness she descended the stairs, feeling as she did the dark electricity of the ley line that ran directly on top of this particular metro line. Too late, she thought, it was too late to turn back. A small miracle, the train was already there, and she almost tripped getting to it, stumbling into the car just as the doors were shutting. There were plenty of seats- it was two in the afternoon in the middle of Greenwich village, and everyone was where they customarily waited for the evening to come, just biding time. The only people on board were a few nervous-looking tourists, and that suited Lydia just fine. She tugged her hood down over her eyes, and slumped into her seat, and tried not to think about what Betelgeuse might have gotten himself into.


	3. Hope is for Sissies

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you awesome folks who reviewed!

To MissMelysse: Thank you :). I may have moved on, but I never forgot this- who could?

To wee-me: He _would_ still love her if she was decapitated! And yes, between us, Lydia hasn't gotten much slack ;)

To Kawaii Usagi Chan San: Thanks! I hope to post this up at pretty regular intervals.

To mywickedlyweirdnature: Sorry about the cliffies. But, not sorry! Heh heh heh...

To Doormouse: Thank you :D The stock room thing made me laugh, girl.

* * *

They had come upon him without warning.

Truthfully, he hadn't been paying attention, crowing over his latest prize for the home he now shared with Lydia. She adored pretty things (although she often made him take them back), but this was truly a treasure for a goddess. Light scintillated off the surface the bowl like sunshine over clear, rippling water, which in fact was what the bowl was made of. It danced in his hands. Now that he thought about it, it was the treasure _of_ a goddess, though he was sure Oshun wouldn't miss it. Well, pretty sure. She would almost certainly be distracted by the tiger in her bathroom.

A crack sounded like snapping glass all around him. Before he knew what was happening, the bowl dropped from fingers suddenly numb with a binding that he was not quick enough to thwart. The last thing he heard was the delicate explosion of crystalline water shattering against the flat concrete ground. The last thing he saw was the shimmering light of a wormhole that he hadn't opened. Then, silence. Then, darkness.

When he woke, he could feel a cool wash of air on his face, tinged heavily with cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes, but could see nothing besides a faint haze that felt like a hangover. Except it wasn't a hangover, since he didn't remember enjoying himself at all.

"Where'm I?" His throat felt like he had gargled with rusty bottle caps. Maybe it _was_ a hangover?

"Not where you want to be." He knew _that_ voice well, but something was different. The normally harsh, heavily sarcastic tone of his former partner was subdued. He peered around and discovered Juno sitting in a straight-backed chair not a foot in front of him. Their knees were touching, even. She was smoking, and she scowled, but somehow he knew it wasn't directed at him this time. "You've been sequestered."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and then tried to rub them, but found he couldn't move his hands. He settled for rubbing his nose against his shoulder. "Who by?" He knew already- it would take some pretty powerful Juice to knock him out, if he did say so himself. But he was a masochist- he just wanted to hear the name.

"Barnabas, as if you didn't already know, you idiot." That last was said with vitriol, and he winced out of long practice. She stubbed out her cigarette on a new one, and took a long drag on it. "You really are the dumbest ghost I know."

Betelgeuse didn't contest that. "What'r the charges?"

Juno gave him a wry look. "I don't suppose you remember the "Mackerel Incident?" His lips twisted up in a war to suppress a grin. "Or the time with the poor people in Dharavi, when all the thread in the factory turned into spaghetti?"

"He was exploiting those poor people!" His face was a mask of injured righteousness. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Or the time with the llamas?"

Betelgeuse scowled. "Okay, okay, so I may have made a few 'incursions' into his business practice. Big deal! He's an assh-"

Juno covered his mouth with a finger. "My point being that he has a moderately legitimate right to imprison you until time of trial..."

"This isn't about that, and you an' me both know it. He just needed an excuse so he could keep me locked up long enough to do what he's always intended to do."

"Well, you gave him no shortage of excuses!" Juno looked as if she was angry enough to smack him, but then subsided.

His thoughts went to Lydia. It must have shown on his face, and Juno replied to his unasked question.

"I'm going to meet with her. I don't know what to tell her, but she's frantic, of course." Juno scowled even more deeply- she had many layers of wrinkles to make use of, but she had to be getting toward the bottom. "But you wouldn't be thinking of that, would you... how vulnerable she is, or how determined she is to come after you? When you began this little affair?"

Betelgeuse winced, and then visibly shriveled under her continued invective. He couldn't think of a single idea in his defense. Lydia _was_ vulnerable. "They got to her already, didn't they? That's why she didn't Call me- she couldn't." His voice tapered off. "I just played right into his creepy little hands."

Juno sighed. "It was the price of Clara's freedom, your true name. Once Barnabas knew that she had learned it, it was only a matter of negotiation of terms- a few bribes here, a few assassinations there. And then, once he got it, he Exterminated her, of course. I guess that's one problem down. What were you _thinking_, letting her go still knowing your Name? You have_ got_ to be the dum-"

Betelgeuse turned his head, looking pathetic, and Juno subsided. She must feel really sorry for him, he realized. She never missed a chance to tell him what she thought of him. "Tell Lydia to go to Oshun. That's the safest place I can think of." He regretted the tiger now, but a person couldn't go around his whole afterlife collecting favors and never spending them. Juno nodded, resigned.

"If you ever get out of this, she's going to skin you."

"Who, Oshun or Lyds?"

Juno contemplated him. "Both, I imagine." Letting that sink in, she reached over and kissed him on the forehead. "You'll be the end of us all. What would Amaterasu think?"

He peered up at her, uncomprehending, and then felt the weight of something drop into his pocket. "I have no idea," he admitted. She backed away from him then, and sighed.

"I'll be in touch, but frankly there's not a single lawyer in the entire Netherworld who will defend you against Barnabas, _if_ you manage to survive until the trial." With that, she turned and walked out, the small door clanging shut behind her.

"Gee, thanks!" He listened to her clipped heels on the floor fading, and then added, "That was sarcasm!" All sorts of dark thoughts in his head, Betelgeuse stretched carefully and managed to slide a hand inside his coat pocket, fingering what felt like a glass disk. One side was smooth, but the other was matte. He puzzled over it, and then realized what it was- a small mirror that could be stitched into clothing. He pondered this latest development, and was comforted a small amount that at least Juno had a plan. She had a long history of getting him out of hot water. That much practice had to be good for something.


	4. New Definition of Normal

Author's Note: This is a short chapter, apologies. For the pic I used for this, you can google Paul Politis, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, Detail #8. And while St. John's Cathedral no longer has scaffolding around it, the old rusted shell was remarkably creepy. As always, I am extremely grateful for reviews- much love! *tosses chocolate chip cookies*

* * *

Lydia was so absorbed in her thoughts, she almost missed her stop. She squeezed out of the car into the station, glad again that there weren't many people around. Moving as quickly as she could, she trotted up the stairs into the bright light of mid-afternoon. Broadway was busy with delivery trucks and bikes, and cars full of businesspeople returning from a late lunch. The normalcy of it all made her feel otherworldly, as if she should be reaching for her breathing mask right about now. Trying to shake off the oddness, she crossed over onto Cathedral Parkway and tugged at her hood again. Just one block to go.

Her knees felt shaky, still, but she knew that Juno would know what to do, and that gave her strength. The shady road gave her some comfort, and she could see the single tower of the cathedral covered with rusting scaffolding. She was sure she would find Juno there, in the shadows of the unfinished stonework. A quick hike across the part, and she stood at the base of the tower, wondering what to do next.

"Psst."

Lydia looked around. "Juno?"

"Shhh! Turn around. I'm over here!"

Lydia glanced behind her. At the corner of the massive structure, shrouded by metal tubing and tattered construction-grade plastic, was a pillar ringed by small stone figures. The figures were frozen in various motions- one pointing at the sky while another screamed horribly, its little mouth open wider than mouths should be able to open. She wondered what their little stone eyes must have seen at that last moment. Then one of the little figures turned its head and glared at her. It glanced both ways with its tiny bulbous eyes, and then beckoned her closer. She obeyed, a small part of her mind wondering exactly when "completely bizarre" had become "totally normal."

"He told me to send you somewhere safe." The gravelly voice of Juno issued out of the heavily-lipped mouth, causing Lydia to empty her lungs in relief. "Although I think you should stay here, it's just like him to want to push you deeper into it." The little stone statue frowned with vigor not normally seen in granite. A small puff of smoke issued from its nose. Lydia shook her head, her hands raised upwards in a gesture of frustration.

"Where is he? Why can't I say his name? _What the hell is going on_?"

"Shush! I am doing whatever I can." The little statue sighed, its tiny stone shoulders rising and falling with a scraping sound. "Which isn't much. Just do what I say, and we might be able to get him back." It waved its little hand, and a door frame appeared in the wall next to Lydia. It was made of old driftwood bound together with marsh grass. As she looked on, the door-frame flooded with a clear rush of water. It fell from the top and disappeared into the ground, like a tiny waterfall framed on a wall. She checked the ground under her feet, but it was dry. "Go on then- he wants you to go to Oshun."

Lydia looked back up at her. 'Why the ocean? What's there?"

The little statue grimaced. "You'll see. I just hope you don't have to go to the bathroom."

"What?" But something shoved Lydia hard from behind, and she fell toward the waterfall. The last thing she heard before she splashed through was the crack of breaking masonry, and the dulled honking of car horns.


	5. Noose for a Necktie

an: Sorry for the wait- first week of school, and all sorts of other stuff you don't care a bit about, but here! Chapter 5- Beej meets the shady and mysterious Barnabas, and fashion advice ensues. Thank you for the reviews so much- they absolutely make my day!

* * *

By the time they came for him, only the total loss of cohesion could have revealed the mirror disk, and he wasn't planning on letting them get that close. Unfortunately, the safest place for it was also a very uncomfortable place, and he had to keep shifting when it stuck his innards. He mentally crossed off swallowing mirrors on his list of possible sideshow acts.

"Betelgeuse, what a pleasure!" A young, debonair-looking ghost opened the door, as if he were still alive. All the trappings of mortal life were an affectation —doors, windows, corporeal forms- but some ghosts had a difficult time with being dead.

Barnabas, in many ways, was an odd choice for a mafia kingpin. In life, he had been a moderately successful businessman, working in the textiles business with connections in Singapore and Peking, and had been gunned down in a drive-by in 1928 while he was on his way back from lunch, the coffee in his hands splashing across his suit just like the bullets. Betelgeuse knew very little beyond that, and even that might have been a Netherworldian legend. But he had become at first influential, and then powerful; he had a knack for getting certain individuals from the "public servant" section of the population released from servitude and into his ranks. He had even attempted to recruit Betelgeuse once, but Betelgeuse had refused. Something in his gut had told him to keep clear of this one, and it was hard to live with his gut if he ignored it. It tended to get graphically bilious when ignored.

Now Barnabas controlled a large part of the "object" market, items that were cursed or haunted and placed in the hands of breathers. He had connections with the living, although no one could prove it, and a brisk trade in exorcised souls, which is certainly where he came across Clara. All in all, not someone you would pick to marry your daughter.

"Barnabas," Betelgeuse grunted. He gestured with a finger to the pock-marked lapel. "The bullets really did hit too low." Betelgeuse grinned his best toothy grin.

"This was my favorite suit, true!" He paused. "Well now, my friend! I hear you have yourself acquired a mortal lover!" His hazel eyes took on a look of keen interest.

Betelgeuse merely gazed back at him. As far as he knew, Lydia was safe, and he wouldn't be baited. Barnabas met his gaze for a moment, and must have seen something unsettling there, because he switched tracks.

"So, it was kind of you to grace us with your presence. Betelgeuse? Or should I call you by your real name?"

"Not in front of the ladies." They both glanced up at the two burly poltergeist-types that stood behind the chair. One had a rope still around his neck like a morbid tie, and the other was missing the back of his head. "12-gauge?" Betelgeuse hazarded. The guard glared at him. It was impolite to talk about causes of death, especially among the suicides. Betelgeuse shrugged. "It was just a guess- I know _nothing_ about handguns."

"Such a strange name for such a devil as you." Barnabas never could stand being ignored. " I never would have guessed." He beamed, teeth showing like a sawblade against pale lips, and sat down in a chair. Betelgeuse grinned without humor.

"The answer is still no, Barnabas. Like it has been the last thousand times. I'm not gonna wear your badge, or buy your Girl Scout cookies, okay? So stop beggin'. You're embarrassin' me."

Barnabas smiled even more broadly, and Betelgeuse felt his odds sinking. It had always been so easy to make Barnabas angry. But now things were different, and Betelgeuse no longer had the stronger hand. And they both knew it.

"Ah, Betelgeuse. You have made two small errors. Now we can talk as men, one to another, and I can explain exactly how you have fallen into my hands." Betelgeuse arched an elegant eyebrow, but said nothing. "One, you did not eliminate Clara. This act of complete stupidity has given me your Name. And two? Do you want to guess?"

The poltergeist gave the mobster a look of supreme disinterest. A small frown tightened Barnabas's brow. "I will tell you. Love." A snort escaped his bullet-punctured throat. "I never would have thought it possible. That you could love, and it be a mortal? Amazing. You charmed a goddess once. But now you love what can be broken. And after I destroy you, I am planning on making her my bride!"

"She doesn't really go for the "aerated lawn" look, bub. Sorry to disappoint." Betelgeuse was putting together what he knew, listening fully with only one ear. It was true that Barnabas had his Name, but he had heard it from Clara, and Clara had heard it from Lydia. Every time a Name passed on to new ownership, it lost a measure of power. If Barnabas felt he needed to use Lydia as leverage, then that meant he wasn't certain of his hold. And that also meant that Barnabas didn't have complete control of the situation- good for himself.

He was certain Lydia was still out there—Juno had to have warned her in time. Otherwise Barnabas would be gloating about it. But how long would it take for them to find her? If he knew her, and he _did_, she would be attempting some hare-brained rescue attempt, and would likely play right into their hands.

And then Betelgeuse would have no choice but to do what Barnabas had always wanted him to do. The same thing that Clara had wanted him for—to punch a hole in the Wall. To open a passage between Life and Afterlife, so that ghosts could walk among the living again, and be Out of the Netherworld, permanently. It would destroy him, the locus, in the process. Though if Barnabas did succeed, the Administration would figure it out and maybe even set things to rights; however, the damage would be done. _He_ would be really really dead.


	6. Tea With the Goddess

AN: The accent was really really hard to get right. I modeled it on my friends from Nigeria, so many apologies if i missed something. Beej and Lyds are owned by Geffen, and Oshun is owned by nobody, thank you so much. The best doors are those that don't go where you think they do. Those are also the worst doors.

* * *

Lydia found herself on her knee and up to her elbows in a sun-warmed river. She struggled to her feet, feeling water runneling down her thighs and forearms. Bright sunlight and extreme heat blanketed her like hot wet wool, and she had to shield her eyes to see.

Around her was a flat grassy plain, the river she was standing in reaching from horizon to horizon. She sloshed to the shore, her feet sinking into the sucking mud and sand. Tall dry grasses, their tops fuzzy with seedpods, stood still in the stagnant air. It was hard to breathe in the heat and damp. A quiet noise rose above the water, and then a sharp slap. A few feet away, a woman was washing a cloth in the river. The cloth was striped a bright gold, with patterns of blue stars and green fish in alternate rows. The woman was small, her wiry arms flexing as she pressed water out of the fabric. She wiped her forehead with a dainty hand, and only then glanced up at Lydia.

Their eyes met, and Lydia jumped at the electric charge that zapped through her. The woman's eyes were bright hazel rimmed with a gold ring that gave her an otherworldly look. She had a strong, beautiful and a great black head of hair, braided into tiny braids, that sprayed out in all directions. Lydia smiled hesitantly, and the woman smiled back. "Welcome to my river, woman of de city." She stood gracefully, and shook the cloth out over the river. In a shower of green and gold, fish fell out of her cloth and into the river, and stars raced upwards towards the sky, vanishing in the brilliant blue. Astonished, Lydia stammered a thank you. Her brain then caught up with her situation.

"Are you... the ocean?" She paused. "That sounds really dumb, doesn't it?"

The woman laughed a bright laugh. "Woman, I am Oshun. De Spirit of Love. You are in my 'ome, in de great land of Nigeria."

Lydia blushed, confused. Why would Beej send her here? "I'm Lydia. It's nice to meet you?"

Oshun looked at her critically. "You don' mean dat. But it's fine, fine. I see you t'ink dat you are lost. Come to my 'ome, and we will talk an' 'ave tea." She walked away, her ample hips swaying gracefully. Lydia started after her, feeling graceless, an awkward child tagging along in the path of a real woman.

They walked in silence for a moment, around a bend of the river, to a small house that rose from the flat ground. It was made of mud bricks neatly stacked, with cut out windows and a tidy grass roof. The door was the same door Lydia had passed through, with the water pouring from top to bottom without getting the ground wet. Oshun turned and smiled at her. "We like our trappings of magic, we do." She opened the door just like anyone would open a regular door, and stepped through. Lydia followed her into the cool, dim interior.

Oshun beckoned her to sit at a small table. In the middle of the table was a magnificent bowl, made of flowing water. Lydia touched it, and the cool water ran over her finger and back into the shape of the bowl. It glittered from the sun that shone in through the small windows, and as Lydia watched, tiny fish leaped in and out of the surface. "It's beautiful."

"You have not seen dis before?" A puzzled frown marked Oshun's eyes as she turned from making tea.

Lydia shook her head. "Hmm. Because dat rascal your lover t'ought it would be amusing to take de bowl from me, and leave a tiger in its place. He must have lost it before he could show it to you."

Lydia swallowed at this new information. "He... someone kidnapped him."

"Yes, I know dis. Stupid fool. 'E make all de wrong people angry, and den alienate all d' friend who might 'elp 'im." She sighed- a long heartfelt one that Lydia recognized immediately- it was like looking in a mirror.

"So what happened between you two?" Lydia wasn't guessing- she knew _something _had happened. Her curiosity was coupled with something like jealousy and something like the need for companionship. Oshun was quiet for a moment, occupying her hands with the making of tea. She handed a pretty stone cup full of hot tea and honey to Lydia and then sat down with one of her own, her eyes looking at something far away. Finally, she focused on Lydia.

"Dere is a ceremony, in villages by de river. In dis ceremony, young girls dance to me, an' if I like one or anot'er of dem, I fall upon dem an' bless dem, and dey become wise women, knowledgeable in de art of 'ealing. But on dis particular day, dere was a girl who was wild an' beautiful, an' she danced like no other I 'ave seen. An' when I fell upon 'er, I was caught by de spirit who possessed 'er. It was Ba'u." She contemplated her tea. "You know 'im as Betelgeuse. 'E 'as many names."

"I've met Ahmed." Lydia smiled faintly. Oshun smiled too, a secret, sad smile.

"Ah, I see. Ba'u is much loved in _some_ places. 'E 'as done many good t'ings. But it never lasts. 'E never lasts, Lydia. Always going away, never satisfied, like a raven looking for pretties." She paused, as if gathering her thoughts like strands of thread. "We were toget'er for a while. I loved 'ow 'e laughed, and turned de world upside down. 'E is very mischievous. 'E left a tiger in my bathroom, when 'e took my bowl to show it to you. Scoundrel. But 'e left one day, an' did not come back. I waited for a while, and on dose days, dere was no love in de world."

They were silent. Lydia drank her tea, her heart troubled. Oshun was lost in thought, staring out the window. Neither of them heard a sound.

"Well, here's a couple of sadsacks!" Cry long enough and you both might decide to leave him to fix his own mess." Juno inhaled mightily on a cigarette, and blew plumes of smoke above their heads. Lydia, after recovering from her initial fright, jumped up to hug her, and Juno patted her shoulders. "Now, now; there's no need to worry about the future, or the past. She fixed a glare on Oshun, and Oshun narrowed her eyes.

"De past is de future, Juno. You know dis better den anyone." She got up to make Juno a cup of tea, and they all settled back down at the table. Juno clutched her tea, and fixed them both with a dark look. Without preamble, she rolled right in.

"Here is the situation as I understand it. Betelgeuse has been taken by Barnabas, and Barnabas is planning to use him as a locus to pop a hole in the Wall."

"'Ow can 'e? Ba'u might be strong, but de Wall 'as stood for as long as I know."

"What is the wall, anyway?" Lydia felt like the slow kid. She got up and poured her own tea, to hide her embarrassment.

Juno thought for a moment. "It's a barrier that keeps the Dead and the Living from seeing each other, and it limits the power that the Dead have over the world of the Living, and vice versa. For instance, I can't sit down and have tea with... oh, well maybe that's not such a good example." She smirked. "Present company excepted, most of the Dead can't interact with the Living. We can't just check out a book at the public library, or order coffee at Tony's. And on the flip side, the Living can't communicate with their lost loves ones, unless they use a powerful medium." She took a sip of tea, and inhaled deeply.

"But why can Beej do all those things? And how can I see you?"

Juno frowned. 'Betelgeuse was born with a rare gift—the ability to see the spirit world. After his death, he retained that gift, but over hundreds of years, it's become something else- when he is Called, every time, he grows stronger, with greater ability to manipulate both Worlds. And now, having been Out with you for months...well, I just don't want to think about it. The reason you can see me is that you have the same gift. You cannot pass between the Worlds by yourself, but you can interact with both of them." She sighed. Lydia looked away, thoughtful.

Oshun tilted her head. "Can dis Barnabas do what 'e claims? It seems... unlikely."

Juno considered the other spirit for a moment. "It does seem unlikely. But I think what Barnabas wants is to harness the power of an exploding star. Supercharge everyone with a megadose of Betelgeuses' ability and power. And what he could do with that, I would rather not find out."

They all sat in silence. Lydia was in shock- she couldn't process what they were speaking of. But the phrase kept rolling in her mind...'harness the power of an exploding star.' "What do we do?" she finally managed.

"The entire problem rests on one point- that Barnabas knows Betelgeuse's Name. We have to change that, and if we can, then he is out of Barnabas' power."

"'Ow do you change a Name?" Oshun looked incredulous. "De Name is de essence- if you take dat away, dere is not'ing for de soul to 'ang on."

"He must be Rechristened. That's the only way I know." Juno raised both eyelids, took a long drag on her cigarette, and watched Oshun narrowly for any objections.

"To be Renamed, you must go to your father or your moth... oh. Oh no, Juno, you aren't serious!" Oshun laughed a rich, scornful laugh.

"Who?" Lydia narrowed her eyes in thought. "Is his father also a ghost?"

Juno grimaced, giving Oshun a dirty look. "His _adoptive_ father," she began, laying thick stress on the adjective, "... isn't just any _ghost_, but I guess you might expect that. That's part of the difficulty. His father is the king of the Welsh Netherworld. And they haven't spoken for centuries!"


	7. In Through a One Way Door

AN: Annwyn, or Annwn, or Annuvin, is the place where the ancient Welsh believed they would end up after death. It wasn't a bad place, but where everyone went, and the door was less like a one-way gate and more like, well, a revolving door. There was dancing, and huge banquet tables groaning under the weight of all the food. Now no one much believes in it anymore, save a few modern 'druids' who keep hoping that the door will open up again. The story of the Wild Hunt is one of my favorite stories, and I admit that some nights I lean out the window to listen for the wild baying of the hounds.

* * *

"So how does one, theoretically, get to the Welsh Netherworld?" Lydia was getting used to the curveballs.

Oshun answered after a long drink of tea. "Annwyn. It's de same distance from everyt'ing else in de Netherworld. A 'op. A jump. A leap. But to me, it is a place I cannot go. De spirits of Nigeria an' de spirits of Wales, we can only meet on neutral groun'."

"Switzerland?"

Juno laughed. "Only places with no established Netherworld- there are a few places. Antarctica. New York City. London. Mostly cities, where people have brought their traditions together, and the mix prevents any one system from being established over another. Switzerland might be neutral in the world of the Living..."

"But definitely not in dis world. Gwyn an' Bertolt do not get along. At all." She stood then, and collected the empty tea cups. She smiled at Lydia, sad again. "You will 'ave to go alone. We cannot come with you."

"But how do I get there?" Lydia stood too, a little scared, and a little mad. "And how do I call Beej, if I can't say his real name?"

Juno was still sitting, hunched around her cigarette, and she appeared even craggier than normal. "To get there, you have to find the Wild Hunt. Or rather, it has to find you. And when you do, you have to convince Gwyn to call his son, and then to Rechristen him. And Gwyn won't want to do it, I guarantee you that. Convincing him will be a real job."

"Why, if he's Beej's father, and he's in such trouble?"

"His adoptive father. Lydia, do you remember dat I told you Ba'u alienated all 'is allies?" Lydia nodded. "Well, Ba'u stole Gwyn's best 'orse- 'e claims 'e was out for a 'joyride' an' planned to return it..."

"But he got Called to China, I think it was," continued Juno. "And the horse got stuck between worlds- ended up as a painting on a bit of plain silk on a wall. And, well, he couldn't free it."

"Dat was de end of Gwyn's finest horse. An' de end of their relationship." Oshun shrugged. It is always so with 'im." Juno shot her a sharp look, and Oshun pursed her lips. "Alt'ough in _your_ case, I'm _sure_ it will work out." She didn't even try to sound sincere, and turned without another word and began to clean up her kitchen.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Oshun, but we must be going!" Juno shouted, taking the near-nonresponsive Lydia by the shoulders and dragging her out the door. They stepped out into the bright sunlight, and the world spun into dark, smoky coolness. They were back in Juno's office. Juno sat Lydia down in a chair and then perched herself on her desk. Lydia felt faintly nauseous. "I never did like that woman. Too full of herself. Being worshiped can really ruin your sense of perspective. She used to be a sweet girl."

"Juno?" Lydia's voice was quiet. Juno sighed, and lit another cigarette before she nodded at Lydia to continue. "Is Oshun right about him? That he never stays anywhere long?"

"Well, what did you expect?" Juno was exasperated, although as gently as she could be. Her sympathy was rusted from long years of disuse. "You think he was going to stick around and watch you get old? And why would you want him to? Don't you want a family? Children? A real life? Whatever that means to you... he can't provide that." She fell silent, irritated at herself for not being able to come up with a convincing lie.

Lydia chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, a mannerism Juno recognized. The she nodded, and shrugged. "I don't know what I want, but I do know I want to be able to punch him in the face if he breaks my heart." She tried out a smile, and found it easier than she though.

Juno grinned at her. "If he ever does break your heart, I'll help!" Their eyes met, and a determined feeling formed up between them.

"So what do I have to do?" She squared her shoulders. Juno stood up and wiper her hands on the skirt of her suit.

"You know the legend of the Wild Hunt?" Lydia nodded hesitantly. "Then, all you have to do is be brave enough to look. The rest of it is up to you." Without waiting for any more questions, she took Lydia's hands, and the world spun again, and turned green.

* * *

Betelgeuse was alone in his little cell again. Barnabas, that loathsome, ill-bred, vomitous whoreson of a maggot had left him to simmer while he 'prepared for the great event' or some such idiocy. Betelgeuse paced , pressing the reaches of his power and coming up short against his own skin. He wasn't worried as much as angry; no one had him at a disadvantage and got away with it.

To be perfectly honest with himself, which was a rare event, he had never expected to fall for Lydia in the first place. But somehow, while he was hanging out annoying her, he began to find her company more pleasant than his own. And then he had wanted to be with her, intimately, and the warmth of her body had seeped into him, and he liked the feeling of being warm. For some reason, she had not only tolerated him, but even loved him. He didn't know if he was capable of love. Love was for the Living. Love meant mutual dependence and Saturday night movies and babies and diapers and... all of that.

This was not helping! Forcing all self-pity into a little dark corner of his psyche, he tried to think. He needed a plan, and he needed a beer. And not necessarily in that order.


	8. The Wild Hunt

Lydia found herself standing in the middle of a deep green field, surrounded by sheep. In the distance were more fields, and more sheep, and then finally, mountains. Their rounded tops were dusted with snow, and dark stormclouds rolled around them. She inhaled the cool, wet air, and the smell of sheep and manure and the ozone of a thunderstorm mixed languidly in her head. She raised her hands, and the damp breeze strengthened, lifted up her arms. The slow wail of a hunting horn tugged at her ears. What had Juno said? That all she had to do was look?

They came into the corners of her hearing first. The sharp yapping of dogs and the delicate tapping of hooves on the densely-packed loam melted into flashes of white and red, brilliant against the deep green of the fields and dark of the sky. Sheep scattered away from the rushing storm now, but Lydia stood still in the center of it, and forced open her eyes.

A massive white stag stood only a few feet away from her, but it took up the whole of her vision. It had bright red eyes and a red muzzle, as if it had taken a long drink of fresh blood from a bucket. It's antlers swept upward like mountains, and the tips of each branch gleamed red against the white bone. It's eyes were focused on her, and she felt a deep-seated menace radiating outward. Around her, slender hunting dogs were yapping and crying. Their short coats were as white as the stag's, but their ears were deep crimson and their muzzles were spattered red. She realized she was surrounded, and as they crept towards her, she felt their hunger.

A sharp whistle brought everything to a standstill. The stag had a rider, and he jumped down to the ground, his boots making a dull thump on the loam that echoed all around her. She looked up at him, and her whole body fell to stillness. No heartbeat, no breath, not a thought in her head but to look at him.

His face was black, like a mask of charcoal had been rubbed into white skin. Wild silver-white hair fell in a wind-tangled mass across his shoulders, and long slender antlers sprouted from behind his ears. He wore a long black traveling cloak, thick leather boots, and rough linen pants and shirt, all worn and patched with heavy travel. A narrow bandolier crossed his thick chest, hung with feathers and tiny branches tied with cord, and a battered leather bag hung at his hip But what caught her most was his face. Where the animals exuded menace, his expression was solemn. Dark eyes slanted slightly upward, and his narrow nose and protruding cheekbones gave him the look of a starving man. Those disturbing eyes were on her now, unblinking.

"You have the taint of the Netherworld already upon you. Have you come to Ride?"

Lydia's body unfroze, and but her mind went blank. "Um, no thank you."

He shifted his weight to one hip. "What then? You catch me on my Return. It's going to storm tonight, and I'd like to be home for a beer before the sky opens up." His voice was all around her and inside her, so intimate all at once that her hands clutched at her shirt, trying to cover herself up. He quirked an eyebrow, and the expression reminded her of her purpose, even if it didn't lessen her embarrassment.

"I came on behalf of your son.." She jumped as he barked a laugh. At this, all the dogs began howling again. It was a terrible din. She tried again. "He's in trouble! He needs-"

"When is he NOT in trouble?" Gwyn's voice was scornful. The stag at pawed the loam. "I am done with him. Run away, girl, and leave him where he lies- you will be better for it." He made to remount, and she had to do something. So she reached out and grabbed him by the arm. He looked down at her, a growing thunderous impatience in his brow.

"Please! I know it's stupid but I love him. I don't even know what that means. I don't know if he loves me, but I came all this way for him, even so." And she did love him, despite even her own doubts. "What can I do?" He looked down at her, and then shook off her grip. His eyes softened. For a long moment, she felt he was weighing her.

"You can do nothing." But I will listen to you, because I also loved him once." With that, he grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the stag, and then mounted up behind her. "Over beer. Just talking about him gives me a headache." He spurred the stag, and lifted a great horn made of white bone to his lips. The sound of it jarred her all the way through to the cellular level. The stag leapt forward, and the baying of the hounds, and his arm pressed her back against his body so that she wouldn't fall off. Daring to look down , she couldn't see earth- only stormclouds laced with lightening underneath them.

She shut her eyes, but she could still _feel_ them traveling- the world washing by as the storm fell all around them.

They arrived in a small stone courtyard, and he immediately dismounted, waved her toward a small door in the wall, and strode off with his stag and dogs. Happy barking trailed after him until she couldn't hear anything but the rain. The king of Annwn lived in a dilapidated castle, and it needed a deep cleaning, possibly involving dynamite and a backhoe. She walked quickly into shelter, and found herself in a small room with a good fire. The maid must have given up. She brushed off the table as best as she could, feeling like nothing as simple as teeth and small fingerbones could weird her out, having now ridden on a flying stag with the Welsh incarnation of Death. A small female ghost brought in a tray with two chipped, unmatched mugs and an iron pitcher with a broken handle. Lydia smiled at her in thanks, but the ghost only gazed at her a moment and then turned away, a hint of upraised, disapproving eyebrow at the last. It didn't leave a good feeling. She tried to wring out her hair, and rainwater trickled down the collar of her shirt. so she just scooted closer to the fire.

Gwyn strode in a few moments later, swung his traveling cape into a hook by the door, and hung his bag over the top of it. Without a word of welcome, he poured full both mugs without ceremony. She took hers and took a hesitant sip, for something to do. It was both bright and bitter, and she could taste honey and peaches. She drank another swallow, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She put the cup unsteadily down, and Gwyn chuckled at her, the first pleasant sound he had made. "Good?"

"Amazing. Thank you." She smiled at him, for a moment forgetting why she was there, and who he was. He sat down near her and poured himself another mug, for he had finished off the first. Then he studied her for a moment, and she was embarrassed and took up her beer again.

"So I can see why he likes you, but what do you see in him?" He seemed genuinely curious, so Lydia marshaled her thoughts.

"Well, he haunted my family when I was young, and nearly killed my father, and then, he, um, tried to force me to marry him, but got sent back before he could finish the ceremony." She showed Gwyn the ring. "And then, well, I called him because I was getting attacked by this horrible poltergeist, and he came and helped me, and almost died...um, again... and then we just ended up spending a lot of time together. And I got to know him, and... I guess that's it." She thought over her own words in her mind. "Wow, I must be insane." She fingered the ring nervously.

Gwyn nodded slowly, a mild look of amusement in his deep eyes, and then poured her another beer. "And now what? You love him, you have doubts about your sanity, you are here...?"

She nodded. "He was kidnapped because this Barnabas guy found out his name from that awful poltergeist? And now Barnabas is going to use him to bust through the Wall. And Juno said that you could rename him, so Barnabas couldn't use him anymore." She finished off the mug again, liking the numbing feeling of it. This was beer that wanted to be drunk.

The king of Annwn was still for a moment. He pursed his lips. " I could indeed rename him. I am his adoptive father, after all." At Lydia's curious look, he continued, an edge to his voice. "He was taken by the Hunt- he gave up his living soul by looking at me. We Rode together for a century or so, and I became so fond of him, I set him free of the Hunt, and gave him the title of my son. And it wasn't long after that that he stole my finest mount, and we haven't spoken since." He sighed. "I always wondered if he just wanted his freedom, and that he only pretended to love me. And now you want me to take him back as a son, to Rechristen him into my family. This is a lot to ask."

She nodded, feeling drunk, and unusually frank. "I just wanted to be able to tell him off to his face, if he was planning to ditch me." She looked straight into Gwyn's dark eyes. "Otherwise I would feel cheated."

"Well." Gwyn gazed back at her, and the world came back into focus. "That sounds like the best reason of all." He touched her mug with his, and grinned at her- a smile at once so wicked and so beautiful that she was momentarily taken with him. They both knocked back the last of the beer.

* * *

Betelgeuse needed a beer. This was not going according to plan. Technically he didn't have a plan, but he certainly didn't have a beer, and that seemed more important right now. He stared at the ceiling, his arms and legs bound, and listened to Barnabas chatter away while he sharpened the sacrificial knife.

"..got this from Tezcatlipoca himself...he wasn't using it. No one does human sacrifice anymore and it was just laying on his mantle collecting dust. I think it rather depressed him, seeing it like that. Much better with the glint of sunlight and fresh blood, don't you think?"

No, thought Betelguese. I don't. He sighed. At least a final death would mean he wouldn't have to listen to this moron anymore.

"...had to kill Clara. She was pathetic, you know, just in tatters from her encounter with you, and she wanted to be some kind of conquering queen...enter triumphant into the land of the Living, probably go shopping on Rodeo Drive or something equally gimcrack. I put her out of her misery, really."

Betelgeuse tested his bonds again, but no dice there. The only glimmer of hope he had was this mirror embedded in his bowels. And he had no clue, beyond the fact that Juno had given it to him, what the hell good it was going to do him. He supposed that in times like these, one's life was supposed to flash before one's eyes. He tried to think about his life. He remembered... Lydia. Demanding that he remove himself from her shower... and their first trip through the leys, and when they danced together in the library. He thought of her delighted smile-morphing-suspicion when he brought her this or that trinket. He thought of being with her, and how warm she made him, and how he would often stare out of her window, and wonder what she saw in a schmuck like him.

"Well, we were hoping to have Lydia come and watch, but sadly, she has still not been collected. It will only be a matter of time, but frankly I don't want to wait." Barnabas beamed at him, looking positively giddy. "Shall we?"


	9. If We Ever Leave This World Alive

"So what do I have to do?" Lydia stood in front of the wall-sized mirror, which, she couldn't help but notice, didn't reflect Gwyn entirely the way she saw him. In fact, she was completely certain that when they had been sitting at the table, his eyes didn't flicker with white fire, and his hair didn't drip blood in little pools on his shoulders. All thoughts of asking him for his phone number vaporized. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him, pretending not to notice that he complexion had waxed slightly green.

When he spoke, his voice resonated through her again, and there was no smile on his face or in his eyes (which thankfully were not flaming). "You have Betelgeuse's name from the original source. That makes your hold on him stronger than Barnabas', who has only heard his name three times removed. All you have to do is say his true name three times."

Lydia shook her head, already feeling sick at the thought. " I can't say it, though. They did something to me."

Gwyn looked strongly at her. "You claim to love him, even if your feelings have been battered by this storm and that? Do you love him enough to suffer?"

She blinked at him. She had suffered, hadn't she? She had already suffered. So the answer, of course, was yes. She nodded. And took a deep breath. And said, "G-"

All the beer that she had drunk camp up all over the floor, not tasting near as wonderful the second time, and she found herself on her knees in front of the mirror. She forced her throat to close, and filled up her lungs with the thin, smoky air. "Gabriel—ahhh!"

Betelgeuse felt it like a kick in his gut. He almost cried out in surprise, but managed to muffle it in time. Barnabas was testing the edge of the knife, absorbed in his own thoughts. Betelgeuse searched frantically in his own head for the connection, and he could feel it- Lydia was calling him. He tried to concentrate- to strengthen his signal. And he began to glow.

"Argh!" Gwyn was holding Lydia up now, as she dry heaved until her body shook. She breathed in again. "Gabriel! Dammit-argh-mother-aaaah!" Her head blossomed into a fiery headache that threatened to make her pass out, and she felt the arms of Gwyn around her, and fought for consciousness.

The glow erupted out of Betelgeuse's essence, and Barnabas' eyes grew wide. "No! They won't steal you from me!" He lifted the knife with frantic effort. "To all the Living come the Dead!" Betelgeuse closed his eyes and reached out with everything he had.

Lydia had no strength left. She collapsed, and her eyes closed. In the darkness, she saw him, and he was reaching out for her. She lifted her hand to touch him, her fingertips inches too far away. He wasn't going to be able to reach her. It was she who had to reach him, this time. For everything, love him or doubt it, for Oshun and Juno and all the people who also loved him, and for Gwyn, who had once called him a son, her lips formed, "...gabri...el." And she fainted.

The mirror shattered with the stress of his passage. A rough hand took him by the arm and lifted him up. The hand pressed something very hot against his forehead, and it burned worse than any pain he had felt, and was so cold it froze him deep inside so that he couldn't feel anything anymore. His body melted away and everything was erased. First Lydia, and then the Maitlands... Juno's livid face.. and then he forgot Clara, and his days Hunting with his father rushed past him. Lastly, his final breath echoed in his head, as his lungs emptied and the spark of life floated up...away...

And was caught like a firefly in a strong hand. "I have no idea what she sees in you." The firefly flickered, but couldn't escape. It wasn't sure why it needed to, but it didn't like being kept. An eye peered down at it, and blinked once. "But I would honor her wish." The voice paused for a moment. "I will name you..." And the voice whispered to the firefly.

And somewhere very far away, a very old obsidian knife shattered against an old iron table, and a scream of frustrated fury echoed around the Netherworld an entire year before it faded completely.

Juno cupped the tea in her hands gratefully. It had been a long day, containing that irritating self-proclaimed mobster and minimizing the damage. She was glad for a reason to finally lock him away, but she could still hear him hollering names of angels and demons, even forty-three floors up. That might go on for a while- there were a lot of names to go through. The Netherworld media had had a field day with it all, and she had only gotten the last reporter out of her office by threatening him with a job in Clerical.

"An' so dey live 'appily ever after?" The wan smile of the spirit conveyed a great deal. Juno nodded at her, and then shook her head, dangly earrings brushing against her cheeks.

"Not if he has anything to do with it."

"I think perhaps Gwyn might be a small bit interested in 'er 'imself. Although I don' know what anyone sees in such a thin, pale little thing."

Juno chuckled, glancing at Oshun across the desk. Her friend had come to help, but more to keep tabs on all of it. She was certain that Lydia would have more than one ghost looking over her during her life. Poor thing. "Living, too. It won't last. He'll come crying back to you someday."

"As if I would take 'im." But she looked slightly mollified, and drank her tea. Juno smiled, but managed to hide her amusement in her mug. She wondered what her afterlife might have been like, had Beetlejuice never come into her office at all. No junior apprentice, no "bio-exorcist", no meddling with the Wall, no scoundrel in her office turning her little world into a three-ring circus.

"..very very dull," she whispered. And felt more content in that moment that she ever remembered.


End file.
